


The Illusionist

by SeydaNeen



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeydaNeen/pseuds/SeydaNeen
Summary: Nimileth has always lived by the motto "no one can suspect you if they don't know you exist." Wanting nothing more than to be left to her studies and nightly excursions, fate will have it that this orphan with a penchant for pick-pocketing and illusion magic must become both the savior and greatest pain in the side of Cyrodiil and its inhabitants.





	1. Sundas Service

**Chapter one: Sundas Service**

**3E 425**

The Mid-year sun blazed high and proud above the city of Kvatch. Foxglove and dragon's tongue flourished in the castle gardens thanks to the previous week's heavy rain. The beech trees swayed softly softly, flushed with deep verdant hues, as a cool wind drifted over the city walls from the west and rustled through the leaves of the trees lining the cobble stone path to the market place. Nimileth sat on a shaded stone bench beneath them to catch the breeze and dab the sweat from her forehead as she watched the towns-people bustle by. It was a rather unextraordinary afternoon, busy and noisy as it always was when the villagers came to the Middas market.

The young Bosmer sat in content silence, the corners of her mouth turned up into the smallest grin. She closed her eyes. The incoherent chatter, the crunch of feet against the dirt, the jingling septims of coinpurses and exchanges made. She imagined the market place of the Imperial City sounded much the same, but somehow more  _luxurious_  of course _._ It was the capital afterall. Who would she be among the busy city-dwellers? A fruit vendor, a pick-pocket, or just another blurred face in the crowd of shoppers? She opened her eyes and gazed at the sea of people. The poor street-vendors without canopies over their stalls had burned pink from the sun bearing down on them. At least no one was selling any fish today.

The mistress had sent the young maid into town hours ago with a simple task: Take 50 gold and bring back vegetables for the evenings shepards pie and flowers for the vases in the castle's dining room. A simple task it may seem, Nimileth took her sweet time wandering through through the marketplace, her basket over flowing with lavender sprigs and carrots. When she wasn't distracted by the blue-winged butterflies dancing in the warm summer air and speckled mushroom caps shooting out from the cracks of stone beneath her feet, she oohed and ahed over the glittering trinkets and baubles that she would never be able to afford on a castle maid's salary.

Thankful for the refreshing breeze, Nimileth tied her wild orange hair up in a loose bun at the top of her head and rose to her feet. The mistress would be furious, no doubt, but it was these few extra hours wandering outside in the open air that made her time cooped up in the castle bearable. Although the strolling through Kvatch was far from her dreams of the white-walkways in Imperial City, it sure as oblivion beat the bare, musty servants quarters of the Castle Kvatch. She walked slowly, admiring the flowers of the morning glories creeping their way up the sides of the houses and the grass growing in patches along the street. Winter would come soon enough in a town as bland as Kvatch, and once again everything would become ash-grey, dead, and cold to match her sentiments.

Finally, she had come to the main plaza and drawbridge leading to the Castle courtyard. She looked around for No-shoe Neville, an old beggar who loitered about near the bridge on Midas to escape the bustle of the marketplace. Whenever she had left-over coin, Nimileth offered It to the poor man and in return, he would pick throught the towns-peoples gardens for pretty flowers or animal bones. She liked both equally as much. A loud snicker drew her attention to the right, where she saw No-shoe Neville sat huddled against the plaza wall with his eyes squeezed shut as a rail-thin boy with messy blonde hair stood above him laughing. Nimileth ground her teeth as the scene unplayed before her. In one hand, the boy held the handle of a metal pail and in the other, a ladle which he used repeatedly to dump water over the beggar's body. She looked around at the other men and women walking by. Why was no one stepping in to help the old man? Could no one else see the cruel torment in front of them? Did no one else care? Nimileth felt her stomach burn with more hatred than should exist in a nine-year-olds body and marched herself up to the two with a furious glare.

The young adolescent boy, not more than three years older than her with a thin fuzz of a mustache, looked her up and down and then, finding her presence quite unalarming, proceeded to dump another ladle onto the beggar. He was swimming in a blue cotton shirt that was two sizes too large for him. His skin was oily, marred by acne scars and little red bumps

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" NImileth shrieked and swatted the ladle out of the boy's hands. She reached around him to knock the bucket out of his grip but he held out his arm to fend her off.

"Me? This man needs a bath, look at him," the boy laughed. "I'm just trying to help him cool down.

With her brow furrowed into a heavy glare, Nimileth pulled out an ear of corn from her basket and began swatting the boy on the shoulder as forcefully as her tiny arms would allow.

They boy laughed… at first, but when it became apparent that the girl was not letting up even when beads of sweat began to form at her temples, his smile slowly faded to a series of sharp winces.

"Ow-crazy elf! I'm not touching you, stop!" He cried with a cracking voice.

"I will show you mercy this time," she said, tucking what was left of the corn back into the basket of vegetables and flower as though sheathing a blade. "but I swear to the Nine, touch that man again and I'll kill you."

"Hmph," he grunted.

Nimileth looked around for Neville, but the beggar must have scurried off during the corn-beating. She curled her lip at the boy and turned to leave but paused when he called out after her.

"You woudn't do it. You're one of those chapel-going girls with ribbons in their hair and scared of dirt."

She lunged forward on one foot. The boy instinctively brought his pail up to his chest to shield himself, spilling the water onto the dirt below.

"Scared?" she mocked and raised a carrot threateningly into the air.

"Well, I bet you've never even killed a chicken before," the boy replied crossing his arms over his chest.

Nimileth rolled her eyes

"I have too killed a chicken. Killed one two days ago for lunch even. And why are you following me to chapel?"

"Ma and Pa make me go with them on Sundas. You're always there praying and giving alms like all the other brain-washed fools. The poors gotta help themselves. You're not doing them any good with a handout."

_What a load of rubbish_ , she thought to herself. The beggars knew her well for her kindness. It may not be the most legal way of helping, stealing food from the castle larders after feasts to bring to them and fencing off a diamond ring or two, but if she didn't, who would? This boy, with his father's comfy cotton shirt and tight coin purse never had to live on the street. Sometimes a bit of bread and coin for a strong drink was the difference between making it through the night and giving up.

"Every little bit helps," she replied.

"How are you going to help them beggars when you can't even help yourself? Are you going to be a maid for the rest of your life and give all your leftovers to the poor?"

"Better than you who sits there picking your nose."

"Better than you who has no friends."

Nimileth scowled.

"You don't have any friends."

The boy kicked a rock into the small puddle that had formed at his feet. He brushed the sandy-blonde hair out of his eyes and squinted at the small Bosmer.

"Maybe, but at least I have parents."

Nimileth eyes grew wide and she stared blankely at the boy with her nostrils flaring. After ten seconds, she placed the carrot back into her basket and shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm wasting my breath talking to you. You're too stupid to understand."

Just as she turned, the boy reached out a leg and stepped on the edge of her dress, causing Nim to fall forward to her knees. The flowers in her basket tumbled out onto the dirt. She scooped them up as quickly as she could, but already the market-goers that had arrived, drawn by the commotion and shrieks, were stomping their muddy boots and pressing them flat against the ground. With a loud grunt Nim whipped around and lunged at the boy, gripping him boy the throat and pressing all her weight against him so forcefully that he fell over backward into the puddle of mud. She held him there with her knee pressed into his chest, watching in a mix of awe and violent satisfaction as he squirmed beneath her. The sleeves of her once cream-colored blouse were completely brown as he thrashed her about sending mud flying all around them. The boy managed to pry one of her hands off of his throat, and after the initial shock of being knocked down had warn off, he tried to sit up. This further enraged the young elf, and taking her now free hand, she slammed her palm in to the boys face, once more sending him down into the mud.

"Ah, to be young and in love," came the croaked voice of an old woman watching nearby.

Nimileth looked up in horror to find a crowd had formed around the mud puddle. Fast as she could, she picked up her basket and ran for the nearest alleyway to escape the surrounding horde, leaving behind the mud-cloaked boy and shattered bottles of ground spices.

* * *

In the castle's servant quarters, an investigation was well underway. It was the fifth time in three months that the Countess complained of a run-away locket. Prior searches of the maids rooms had yielded fruitless results. Whoever made off with the jewelry had either hidden their stash outside their quarters or didn't work as part of the help or so it was believed for many weeks until an anonymous source had provided a new bit of detail which re-opened the investigation.

See, the guards had been tipped off that a small orange-haired bosmer had been dropping gold rings and 20-piece septims into the tins of old beggars on the outskirts of town. The informant claimed she saw the young girl drop a few sparkling rings into the hands of a shady man in exchange for coinpurse before strolling toward the castle drawbridge, stopping only to give a few coins to that No-Shoe beggar. No guard had seen such an event transpire, and the captain shrugged off the warning until this morning when the Count's youngest son had reported his decorative cuffs and rings mysteriously went missing in the night. Hearsay wasn't enough to warrant an arrest, not that anyone would question it. Few cared if orphaned servant-girls went missing, and the castle had no shortage of help.

So, the guards set out for the servants quarters in the afternoon, turning over rugs and paintings, chests and drawers. Beneath one of the beds, the found a burlap sack containg several leather-bound books. The ornate letterings along the cover and spine and gold clasps easily gave away that these were expensive books, not ones that could be afforded by any of the kitchen maids. In fact, the gurads discovered that they belonged to the Count's library. Of course, no one realized that a few books had gone missing and had they found only stolen books in the young girls quarters, the Count may have even overlooked the crime for the sake of childhood mischief and curiosity. But in the pillow case, the guards had recovered a two diamond rings and a ruby necklace from the Countess's jewelry box. The cuffs were no where to be seen.

The sun had settled over the Abecean sea, leaving the clear a vibrant orange dusk. The busy streets had settled for the evening, and Nimileth had finally returned her basket of slightly muddied vegetables and flowers to the kitchen. Thankfully, the Mistress was not around to see the sad state of the produce it had taken all day to purchase. Hoping to unwind with the next volume of  _Mystery of Talara_  before she needed to begin preparing dunner, Nimileth had just entered the servants quarters from the kitchen when she heard the sound of the castle guards armor clinking down the hall. By the sound of their chattering voices, she identified at least four. Guards very infrequently passed through the servants quarters unless it was to pay visit to one of the chamber maidens late in the night after a good bit of drinking, and the sudden presence of so many at once alerted her that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the lingering adrenaline coursing through her body that left her slightly paranoid, but Nimileth decided against conintuing down the hall. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping to overhear their discussion when she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. They were talking about  _her_.

"A short Bosmer with red hair. Scour the Castle. Savlian take the South Wing, Nerus the North. Jesan, alert the guards at the main entrance and then check the basement. I'm going to speak with the mistress to find out this little thief's schedule."

The footsteps split up, most travelling away from her but a very clear  _thud thud thud_  echoed off the walls coming toward the door she had just entered from. Her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide or an escape. The door was in clear view of the hallway, rendering the kitchen exit impossible. She spotted a small cupboard that held bottles of cheap wine, a barrel of potatoes, and a window. Without second guessing herself, she slid a chair up to the window, pulled her self onto the sill and lept out to the ground below.

* * *

Nimileth stood in the entrance of the Chapel of Akatosh clutching her left arm while blood trickled down her cheek and dripped to the clean white floor below. Although she came to service every week, the chapel had never seemed so large and intimidating to her as it had in that moment. The pews were all empty save one man silently reading in the front row. The stained-glass faces of the Nine looked down from the windows above her glaring, disappointed. Nimileth lowered her gaze.

A brown-haired imperial in blue robes looked over his shoulder at the small girl who had entered the chapel alone. From across the room, he could see that she was trembling and clutching her arm as though in pain. He quickly shut his book and approached. She shifted in her stance as he came closer, pulling her shoulders in to a defeated cower. She was beaten, with muddied, torn clothes and a bleeding face. The priest clenched his fist. Who could do something to such a young child?

"Hello there," He said, his voice soft and quiet as though speaking any louder might cause her to shatter.

"Hello." She squeaked, not yet looking up at him.

"Are you alright? Your arm looks to be causing you pain."

"I-I've fallen down."

"That's quite a tumble you've taken. May I?"

Nimileth looked up and nodded. The priest had the kindest blue eyes she had ever seen, but she couldn't control the nervous tremors as he knelt down and took hold of her hand. He gently inspected her arm, attempting to roll up the sleeve of her blood-stained blouse, but she winced sharply, and he set it down.

"Do your parents know you're here?" The priest asked. He had seen her before, whether around town or in the chapel, he couldn't quite pin the memory down. The girl shook her head. He glanced up at the window above the doorway. The sun had disappeared completely, and the orange light was now fading to purple. He couldn't send her out alone at such a late hour. "It's good that you've come, but I'm sure they're very worried. They will want you see a healer straight away, I'm sure. I can look for them if you want to stay here and rest. It shouldn't take long."

"Is it broken?" the girl asked, ignoring the priest's previous question.

"No, I don't think so, but it looks very badly bruised and some of these cuts are quite deep." The priest waited for the girl to respond to his previous comments. No doubt she was scared. Maybe she thought she would get in trouble, and he doubted that the wounds he saw were due to a simple fall. Met with silence and soft sniffles, he decided to ask again. "Where are your parents?"

"In Aetherius," she finally replied.

"Oh, I see." The priest said nervously. Although the girl was dressed in muddy, torn clothes, she didn't look like a typical street urchin. She was well-fed with healthy, tanned-skin, not sickly and skeletal like most of the orphans the chapel would pull off the street. The most likely conclusion that he could think of was that she was a servant girl at one of the wealthier estates or even Castle Kvatch, but that idea brought with it more troubling thoughts. She obviously had not acquired such grave injuries from a mere tumble. The priest opened his mouth to speak, wanting to question the girl further on just how she happened to fall down, but he could see from her trembling and low gaze that she was terrified. Someone else was responsible for the young girl's pain and that monster should be reported to the guards as such. The priest, frowned. He knew she would not willingly give up the necessary information for a report.

Come with me," the priest said and led her to the front of the chapel. Nimileth trailed behind, eyeing the stained glass images of the Gods above and lowering her head in shame.

"What's your name, miss?" The priest asked.

"Nim-" she began before stopping herself, wondering if the guards would later ask this priest if he had met her.

"Nirn?"

Nimileth nodded her head. He had misheard her but she was not eager to correct his mistake. The priest stood beside the altar and motioned for the girl to approach.

"Place your hand on the well and let us say a prayer together."

"Why?" She asked quickly and clutched her arm with her free hand.

"As servants of the faith, let us ask the Divines for mercy and your good health."

"Oh no, I can't. The Nine- I've never asked for their help before."

"They serve their followers as much as they serve the Nine. The relationships we form with the Gods are one of mutual love. They would not want to see you here standing in their house wincing in pain."

Nim looked up at him with glassy eyes. She reached up with her good hand wiped a budding tear away.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't. I shouldn't have come."

She took a few steps away from the priest, nearly toppling herself backwards onto a pew. He reached out to stop her.

"What if they won't help me?"

"Don't go, please. I-I have seen you here before, haven't I. You come to our service every Sundas."

Nim gave a small nod.

"Then why do you look so frightened now? You must know that the Gods are happy to help such a pious servant."

The nervous expression had returned, and the girl looked up at the stained window. She rubbed her arm and began to cry softly.

"They know," she said and hung her head in shame. Tears slid down her cheek and mixed with the streak of dry blood. She sniffled loudly and wiped the blody stream across her face.

"Know what?"

"That I'm not worth being helped."

"And why would they think you are not worthy?"

"I-I hurt myself. Only I am responsible for the ill that has befallen me. Why would the Gods help such a stupid child?"

"We all make mistakes. You walk in the path of the Nine, do you not?"

The girl paused before nodding.

"Imperfectly, but I try."

"And how often do you pray?"

"Every night,' she said quietly. "Every night, I pray and ask them to forgive me,"

This priest raised his eyebrows at her response.

"Forgive you? What could you have done that you must ask for forgiveness?"

"I'm not a good person, that's why the Gods have cursed me with his wretched life."

The priest frowned.

"The Gods do not curse children."

"Then what would they have me do with the hand I am given? Spend the rest of my life cleaning and cooking for those who mock the poor and hungry while gorging themselves every night? Watch as they turn up their noses to the beggars outside their home but call themselves gods-fearing men of the faith? Zenithar says to work hard and be rewarded, but I will never have the gold like them to help those in need without being forced to work until I die. I have betrayed him. There is no escape from this life. I want to thank the Gods for giving me all I have but sometimes I get so angry. I get so angry and wish for the pain of others. I-I know it's not my place to judge them, so why do the Gods let them carry on in such a way? I don't know why they have given some people everything and made them sick with greed while giving other people nothing, not even enough to survive. There's no escape."

The priest listened in silence and then motioned for the girl to sit on the pew behind her. He took a seat beside her and pointed up at the huge windows above them. The Divines smiled down with open hands. By now the sky behind the glass was completely purple and the first few stars had began to peak out. Nimileth felt guilty for the anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Even in the chapel she could not suppress it.

"Julianos smiles upon your curiosity. You are wise to question the fairness of the life you see unfold around you, but I disagree. No one is bound to the hand they hold in the moment."

"I don't see how I can make a difference. I open my heart to Stendarr – protect the weak and give what I can to those in need but nothing changes. I've been laughed at, called a fool for trying to make better a part of life that seems inescapable. There will always be those with too much and those with too little. I have such evil thoughts in the night, ones that the Divines must frown on me for. So I pray and come to service every Sundas in hopes that they will take these thoughts away. Maybe my hate blinds me to the good that can be done."

The priest reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to offer the young girl.

"Thank you," she whimpered softly and cried into the wrinkled fabric.

"Child, you must listen to your own words. Fewer have such a pure heart. Dibella smiles down upon you on. You have opened your heart to the Nine, and she has gifted you with more love than you know what to do with. This is all you need to begin the life you wish to live. I wasn't born a priest, you know. My father was a humble farmer, but yet here I am, a Priest of Akatosh. I have dedicated my life to serving the Nine, and I chose every day to let them spread love and light to their followers through me. Let me show you."

Nim watched in awe as blue light radiated from the Priest's hands. He placed them over her arm and she tensed as it grew warm and tingly. Slowly she peeled back the torn sleeve of her blouse to find that pink new skin had grown over the deep gashes that once existed beneath them.

"How did you do that?" She had never seen anyone perform magic before. She had read about it in books, of course, dreamed about what it might appear like many times, but never had she met anyone capable of casting a spell, let alone on her.

"The Divines work through me to help those who walk the path of light."

"Are all priests healers like you?" she asked running her finger over the fresh skin, her eyes wide and round like shiny pearls. She took the Priest's hand in hers and brought her face close to inspect every crease in his palm. "I don't want to clean and cook for the rest of my life. How do I become a priest? How do I learn magic to heal people?"

The priest chuckled.

"It's not as difficult as you might think. Keeping faith in the Divines is probably the most difficult part for many. I can teach you if you are willing and dedicated."

"Do you think I could do it?"

"Of course, we are all connected to Aetherius and it's magical reserves. Stendarr gave to all mortals on Nirn the ability to wield magic if they so choose. All you need is the time and patience to practice."

"But I mean, do you think I could be a good person. Help people one day like you? I have nothing to give even to myself. How can I offer anyone help?"

The girl sucked in deeply and wiped her eyes with the back of her palm. Her wide-eyes followed after the priest as he  stood to his feet and offered the girl a smile.

"I think this problem can be easily remedied. Come in on Sundas before our sermon and I will show you how we can work with the Nine to aid others in need."

The girl nodded and met him with a toothy grin short of one incisor.

"Are you hungry," he asked. "There is food in the chapel hall."

"I am quite alright, thank you. I will say a prayer now to thank the Gods for meeting you."

The Priest turned toward the stairs leading to the undercroft and chapel hall with an ineffable warmth brewing in his chest. He left to give her privacy and also to retrieve a cup of tea for the young girl. As he sat there waiting for his kettle to whistle, he couldn't stop thinking about what the girl had said. What tragedy must she have faced to think of herself in such a negative light? The Gods worked in funny ways like that, and even while he carried his tea up to the small bosmer, he felt them working through her to reach him. He was thankful, whatever she had been through, that she turned to the Nine for solace.  Too often had he seen lost youth join gangs of thieves or bandits, even turn to daedra worship, in a desperate last attempt to seek the validation and comfort missing from their lives. The priest knew all to well of the allure those alternative life-styles had to offer. The Divines had mercy on him.

Steeping the pouch of tea, he reflected on his position in the chapel. Never before had he felt so invigorated by his duties as simple mortal servant.  There was power in words, in healing, in teaching and he thanked Akatosh silently for granting him the opportunity to wield it.

The priest proceeded slowly up the steps, but when he returned to the altar, he found himself staring into an empty chapel. He called out the girl's name and received only echo. Perhaps she had enough for one day, he didn't blame her. Sipping the tea slowly, he realized he hadn't ever told her his own name, and on Sundas, the priest waited by the door for the girl, Nirn, to appear. She didn't show. The next week, he waited outside, scanning the sea of people who bustled by with their baskets and jingling pockets of coin. With each villager that entered, the priest felt his heart sink. She had presented such promise, such devotion to the Nine. Had he said something to turn her away?

The girl never came to the Sundas service again.


	2. Eight Years Later

**Chapter 2: Eight years later**

**3E 433**

“Have you made a decision?

Nim eyed the wine list up and down in defeat. 75 septims for Tamika? No thank you. Not today, Ma’am. The small Bosmer looked up from the sheet of paper to meet the proprietor’s eye and cleared her throat nervously.

 “You’re not carrying anything of a younger vintage, are you?” she asked. “A Surilie 415 perhaps?.”

 “No, nothing younger than 399,” The blonde Imperial behind the counter looked the young girl up and down and sighed, quite irritated by her lengthy deliberation.  She had other patrons to attend to after all, patrons that were much more willing to part with their gold.

“Of course,” Nim replied with a forced grin.  “What a fine selection.”

Nim had returned to the wine list though she was already certain she would leave empty handed and attempted to avoid the feeling of the proprietor’s eyes boring into her skull. She glanced up briefly as an older Imperial woman approached the counter.

“Good evening, Augusta. I’ll be having the usual, please,” she said. Nim watched as the woman side-eye her briefly before returning her attention to the counter to await her drink. Nim looked down at her clothes, suddenly feeling  very self-aware. She was dressed in braided sandals, a short tan skirt, and an olive blouse stained with the blood from last weeks deer-hunt. Standing next to the woman in her red, velvet ensemble, Nim felt like she might as well be wearing a burlap sack. She looked around the lobby of the Tiber Septim hotel only to be met with more velvet, silks, and furs. She shrugged her shoulders. She came here for wine not friends.

“Have you read the latest statement from the Legion?” the woman continued, rapping her long nails against the wooden counter in a steady rhythm.

The blonde proprietor, Augusta Callidia, shook her head while pouring the woman a golden colored drink from a crystal decanter.

“It’s in the Black Horse Courier. They’ve officially ruled out the Dark Brotherhood from the assassination of Uriel Septim.”

Nim’s stomach dropped at the mention of the Emperor’s name. Her pointed ears perked up and immediately she had stopped re-reading through the list. A sudden lump lodged itself at the back of her throat.

“Can you imagine that, Augusta?” The woman took a quick sip and waved her arm flippantly through the air. “I mean, what could be worse than the Dark Brotherhood?”

“Necromancers?” Nim replied immediately without looking up from the menu in her hands. Both women turned to her with raised brows. She glanced up to meet their curious stares.

“I beg your pardon?” replied the older Imperial.

“Necromancers are worse than assassins, don’t you think? It’s one thing to cause death and another to raise it.”

The older woman paused and stared pensively at Nim before taking a very long sip of her drink. Augusta was now glaring at Nim with her lips pulled into a long, thin line.

“Why I suppose you’re right. What a ghastly thought. Another, Augusta, please. It’s been such a long day. As I was saying, we’re in for some hard times. With the death of the Emperor-“

“Yes, that does seem to be the consensus now-a-days doesn’t it?”

The blonde imperial behind the counter gasped at the sharpness of the small Bosmer’s tone. The older woman beside Nim shrugged her shoulders, downed her second drink, and patted Nim gently on the shoulder leaving three ten-piece septims on the counter before turning toward the seating area. Nim blushed and opened her mouth to apologize but stopped herself before even a whimper escaped.

“Listen, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to make a purchase? I have other customers to serve,” Augusta spat bitterly.

Nim returned the wine list to the counter shook her head softly. She turned away from the proprietor of the Tiber Septim Hotel, walking briskly toward the exit. Stepping aside for the evening guests entering the door, she took a long, deep breath and looked down at the list Methredehl had written out for her. _Eggs_ _– check, oranges- check, cheese-check, sewing thread-check_ everything but the bloody wine. Nim took a quick glance over her shoulder to see Augusta still glaring at her from the reception desk. She didn’t want to shop there anyway, she told herself. The wine was dreadfully overpriced.

 

* * *

 

Nim kicked a stray rock across the stone path leading towards the Temple District and kept her eyes fixated on her feet. It had already been one year since she left the prison, since she left her past and childhood innocence behind to start anew in the Imperial City, since the day she witnessed a knife being plunged into the Emperor’s heart.  She shuddered at the memory of his croaking voice and the feel of his wrinkled, papery skin in her palms as he handed her the amulet of kings. It had been one year, but Nim did not think any amount of passing time would make her comfortable discussing what she had seen on that day. No one knew she was there with him, not Methredehl, not her housemates, not Armand, and most certainly not anyone in mages guild. And to think she hadn’t even followed up with his dying wishes!

Nim did her best to shake the image from her thoughts, as she tended to do with all burdensome memories, and proceeded through the wooden gates.

_It_ _’s not my fault that he put so much misguided trust into a teenager_ , she huffed. _Why not the blades that were established to guard him?_ _Why does everyone expect so much from me?_

It’s not like she had made no attempt to return the amulet Jauffere. On several occasions, she stood in front of the door to Weynon Priory, but each time she reached out for the handle, the image of Uriel Septim’s dying body returned to her. No matter how much Baurus had assured her that the Blades took blame for his fatal attack, Nim knew that she was the one at fault. She was the one that stood idle, paralyzed by fear and shock as the assassin drew his blade. At this point, maybe it would be better to tell Armand and pawn off the bloody thing, get it out of her life for good! At last she came to the All-saints Inn where she could spend the remaining 30 septims from her purse on a few bottles of cheap wine before heading home.

“Evening, Nimeleth,” said the Redguard publican.

“Fine day to you, Willet. I’ll take two bottles of the cheapest wine you have, please.”

“Ah, the usual then.” Willet nodded and retrieved two bottles of wine from the shelf behind him.

Nim removed four 5-piece septims from her coin purse, placed the bottles in her basket, offered the Redguard one more smile, and left the building.  The sky shimmered a faint orange above her. She loved the walk back to the waterfront.  The closer to sunset, the better. She’d wander aimlessley through the temple district for hours just to ensure that as she emerged from the city tunnel with the familiar pitter patter of leaking water echoing against the walls behind her, the warm glow of fading sun would greet her from beyond the heavy wooden doors. The bell chimed six times from the light house as she slowly followed the cobblestone toward the dingy cluster of houses along the bank of Lake Rumare.

“Aha, took you long enough! What, did you grow the grapes yourself?” Methredehl looked up from her seat on the bed across the room as Nim closed the door to the tiny shack behind her.

“Actually, I walked all the way to Skingrad to pick them for you,” she retorted with a cheeky grin. She set the shopping basket down on the table as she sat on the long bench before it. “Your armor’s all laid out. Are you planning on going somewhere tonight?”

“I hear Hamlof Red-Tooth got a new shipment of gold ore. Wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”

“And who told you about that?” Nim shouted much more loudly than she had intended. “I’ve been asking Dynari for weeks to keep an eye on Red Diamond Jewelry for me!”

“I have my sources, little Nim. You know that.” Methredehl finished her sentence with a coy smile and returned to the book in her lap.

“Hmph.”

And by source she meant her lover, no doubt. It annoyed Nim that Armand so blatantly favored Methredehl over all other guild members. Although Nim had always proved herself to be the more capable thief of the two, easily beating her in their initiation competition and fencing thousands more in gold, it was Methredehl that Armand frequently entrusted with the orders for local operations and used as a key informant. On more than one occasion, he even placed her into positions of leadership and had her enacting her own plans in his absence. Nim was young, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew of their affair and understood that the dynamic of their relationship as well as the benefits it afforded.

Of course, she wasn’t jealous of such a position, considering she never had any interest in the witty Redgaurd herself, and in truth, Methredhel made a fine leader when the doyen was gone. She was happy for her sister Bosmer and believed Armand was genuine in his affection, but that did little to ease her irritation of what was clearly nepotisim.  At first, she assumed the difference in treatment was due to age, since Methredhel was in her early twenties and Nim had just recently turned seventeen.  Though age could very well have been a factor in explaining why Armand was more inclined to promote her older housemate, in Nim’s eyes, she had well proved both her loyalty and prowess as a thief.

_No use in dwelling on it_ , she thought to herself and with a defeated sigh, reached out for an orange. Methredhel had taken her into the already overcrowded shack when she found out the young Bosmer was living in the abandoned house next door with two homeless middle-aged men. She proved herself a kind-hearted and true friend, and for this, Nim was unerringly grateful. Besides, Nim had higher goals to shoot for. Not that any specific ones came to mind, but one day she’d be living the life of a high roller with no one to answer to. One day, she would be the person others came to begging for help.  The first step was probably moving out of the bedroll in Methredhels shack and getting a place of her own.

“Oh I nearly forgot,” Methredhel began, swiftly breaking Nim’s ambitious fantasy. “Someone came by looking for you this morning. She was dressed in some robes, I think from the Arcane University.”

“Hmm, did they give you any idea what for? Did you get a name?”

“No sorry, didn’t ask. I was somewhat hungover from the night before, and just wanted the knocking to stop. I think she wanted you to report there. Something about all your recommendations being received.”

“Yes, finally!” the young Bosmer shouted with joy. “I’ve been waiting weeks for this.” No doubt Jeanne misplaced her recommendation, Nim thought. The woman couldn’t even keep track of her own guild members. Bruma was the last of the local chapters she had visited, and Jeanne’s negligence would certainly explain the hold up.

 “You’re not going to abandon us for some haughty spell-casters and their cheap parlor tricks, now are you?” Methredehl asked.

“Hey, I am one of those haughty spell-casters and everyone loves my cheap parlor tricks.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve all seen you lighting candles with your fingers before. Bet you make yourself real useful walking around the guild halls at night like an elven torch, don’t you?”

“More useful than you are to the guild’s coffers, that’s for sure. Oh, but don’t beat yourself up about it, Methredhel. I know Armand keeps you busy with _other things,_ ” Nim said with a sly grin. She winked at her friend who replied by scrunching up her face and sticking out her tongue in the manner that most mature women do.

 “Hah hah,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Very funny, Nim. No one has ever made that crack before.” Methredehl joined the younger Bosmer at the table and poured herself a glass of wine. “I’m surprised they let you in at all, what with your criminal record and all.”

Nim laughed nervously.

“I told you, nobody kept a record of my stay in prison. The jailor was far too busy on the eve of my arrest and no one bothered to verify my identity. I could have told them I was Almalexia herself and no one would have been any wiser. Besides, I wasn’t in for anything _serious._ Just a little –”

“Petty theft, right?” Methredhel interrupted with a sly grin, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, we’ve all heard that one.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Nim replied with squinted eyes.  

“Mhm.” Methredhel took a long sip of her wine and raised an eyebrow at Nim who was now focusing very hard on peeling her orange. “So, are you going to go see what those mages want or what?”

“Yes, but it’s almost nightfall. They’ll probably want to show me around the university grounds and maybe meet a few fellow mages. Who knows how long that will take? I should probably wait until the morning.”

“Oh, and what will you do in the meantime? Any plans for the night?”

“Hmm, perhaps I’ll head over to Red Diamond Jewelry,” Nim began. Methredhel nearly choked on her wine.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“And why not? I hear Hamlof Red-Tooth got a new shipment of gold ore.”

* * *

 

NIm awoke early the following morning while all her roommates were sound asleep and softly snoring. She wriggled out of her bedroll and tiptoed over Carwen to grab a fresh pair of brown leggings and a red velvet shirt she had stolen from a rather large house in the Talos plaza. It was of much finer material than anything she would willingly buy for herself. She usually fenced off the items she stole on her nightly excursions, including the beautiful garments and jewels she secretly pined for. She was saving up for a house after all, but just one or two fine articles of clothing would be useful should she ever find herself in a situation where looking like a beggar would be disadvantageous. This, she suspected, was one of those situations as she had quickly been learning the importance of first impressions. After changing, she slipped outside and made her way through the tunnel passage to the Temple District of the city. The air was thick and gray with the morning fog layer climbing over the city walls from Lake Rumare. Nim stopped by a well to splash her face with the cool water and briefly combed through her wild copper hair in the surface reflection with her fingers.

A pair of iron-clad guards exchanged posts for the morning shift at the nearby gate. They nodded a good-morning nod to which Nim smiled and nodded back. To say she was excited was an understatement. Nim had spent so much time in the company of thieves, she had no idea how great a learning experience it was to be surrounded by people who knew more about magic than she did. Joining the mages guild was like learning a new language, like learning a whole new culture. The way the scholars spoke, interacted with one another, even the way they dressed was so foreign to the young orphan. Now she certainly respected her fellow thieves in the guild, but they were of a different breed of talented, and Nim was still convinced she was a better thief than all of them. While she loved the rush of a good heist, the determination to master a school of magic, or any given spell for that matter, was an unrivaled challenge. And that was the feeling Nim truly lived for- an honest challenge.

It hadn’t been an easy task to acquire all her recommendations and took her nearly all of six months to attain them. Few of the local chapter heads had taken her request seriously upon first meeting her. While it had irritated her to no end, she understood their reactions. Five-foot-three, undernourished, and dressed like a peasant was hardly the appearance one conjured up of an esteemed mage. She looked like a child. Hell, she was a child when she first came to them, but even then, at sixteen-and-a-half years young, she accomplished every task laid out for her. Surprising others with her dedication seemed to be a skill within itself. At last she stood before the thick stone walls and the tall wooden gate to the Arcane University. Purple flame danced in their braziers, waving back and forth in the soft breeze as though welcoming her in. Nim approached, eager not to disappoint anyone beyond the walls in front of her.

 

* * *

 

Raminus Polus sat in the lobby of the archmage’s tower trying very hard to keep himself awake. He had, yet again, stayed up far too late reading a rather juicy chapter of _The Real Barenziah_. Unfortunately, he doubted the collection at the university library held the second volume and made a mental note to stop at First Edition for their Loredas book sale. For a brief moment, he thought he heard a knock on the door but attributed the rustle to his sleeplessness or forceful gust of wind. Again, the thump sounded from the door. Raminus, too tired to bother, closed his eyes against the knock.

“Hello?” a small voice peeped through the squeak of the opening door. Raminus opened one eye before fully acknowledging the presence of the young girl and stood to his feet.

 “Oh, good day. How may I help you?” The brown-haired imperial responded, trying his best to be professional despite his heavy eyes. The girl looked small in every dimension, even for a Bosmer, and very young. Raminus wondered if she was the daughter of mage in search of her parent, though she held no strong resemblance to anyone he knew personally. He had dealt with this baby-sitting deal plenty of times before and grumbled silently in his head.

“Yes, good day, sir. I am to meet with Master Wizard Raminus Polus about entry into the University.”

“Ah,” Raminus responded, more surprised than he intended to let on. He had heard about this associate from the mage-gossip flowing through the lobby and living quarters. The last of her recommendations had arrived two days ago, and as usual with new apprentices, it was his duty to greet her. She was said to be young and very quiet but a surprisingly skilled illusionist. Though it was quiet obvious that the girl had received prior training in the magical arts, she insisted that her knowledge of the ways of magic were a fortunate blessing from Julianos. Looking at her large green eyes and round face, Raminus could hardly imagine her wiping out nine zombies in the firey, fury Erthor had described several months back.

“You must be the associate, Nimileth. Yes, we have received all seven of your recommendations. You’ve done very well for yourself it seems. As a full-fledged member of the mages guild, I hereby promote you to the rank of Apprentice.” Raminus wanted to mention something about possibly being the youngest mage to gain entry to the university but realized he had no idea how old the Bosmer truly was. It could very well have been that she was using some  heavy illusion magic or an enchantment to hide her age at that very moment. That or she was simply a well-aged elf, but despite his curiosity, Raminus had heard a thing or two about not asking a woman her age.

“That’s good of you to say so, Master Wizard. I hope to do much more for the guild as an Apprentice.”

“No need for the formality, Nimileth. You can call me Raminus.”

“Well then, Raminus, you may call me Nim.”

“Nim, short and sweet,” he offered the young girl a smile. She didn’t smile back. “Ah, I didn’t mean it like-“

“No worries,” she replied curtly.

Raminus internally palmed himself and walked toward the counter across the room to retrieve a set of robes. He cleared his throat and handed them to Nim.

“Now, before I take you on a tour of the university, please accept these.”

Nim accepted the folded robes and held them out in front of her. Her very own set! Finally, she could look the part of a true mage. Maybe then people would take her seriously upon introductions.

“They are the Robes of the Apprentice. Everyone receives them upon entry. Take a moment to try them on and-oh!”

Raminus tried to look away as fast as possible but the girl had already removed her shirt and was in the process of slipping the robe over her head. He blushed and questioned whether or not to acknowledge what had just happened. He heard her clear her throat as though to signal she was fully robed, but he didn’t dare look back at her.

“You were speaking about a tour?” Nim swiped a stray lock of orange hair from her face with no obvious recognition of the prior event, though she had already folded up her clothing and draped them across her arm.

“Ah, yes. Follow me,” Raminus replied meekly. He stepped to the side and motioned toward a door across the room. “Let us start outside with the alchemical garden.”

Nim followed silently behind the Imperial, attempting to smooth down her hair all the while. Awaiting beyond the door to the University grounds were dozens of mages in blue robes scrambling about the walkway with armfuls of books and huddling in small groups to chatter about their latest experiments and lectures. Nim felt little butterflies floating in her stomach as she imagined herself among the crowds of scholars. They walked by, nodding to Raminus and paying little attention to the small Bosmer, but Nim didn’t mind. They all looked so preoccupied, and she wasn’t too keen on anymore introductions anyway.

“So, Nim, from where do you hail?” Raminus asked from beside her as he led her across the white cobblestone.

Nim chose to omit the fact that her birth place was unknown to her. Her earliest memories were from an orphanage in Kvatch that, to her knowledge, no longer existed. Perhaps she was born in a nearby Cyrodiilic county. Perhaps she was not. She was here now, and that was truly all that mattered.

 “Cyrodiil,” she replied. “I’ve been here my whole life.”

“So, you’re native like me. Where do you live?”

“The Waterfront. And you?”

“Right here in the University,” he said, gesturing toward the open space surrounding them. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

Nim nodded with a smile. She imagined the University must have wonderfully lavish dormitories and excitedly awaited the rest of the tour.

“And here we are. This is the Lustratorium gardens. I’ve been told by several of our chapter-leaders that you have a penchant for alchemy.”

“Yes, I love experimenting. It’s quite profitable when ingredients are in abundance. You’d be surprised.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would be,” Raminus chuckled. He hadn’t met many people who made a living wage off free-lance potion selling, and the girl beside him could not have been too successful if she lived in that dump on the waterfront. “You should find great value in this garden, I hope. Right this way is the Chironasium.”

Inside the chironasium, Raminus explained her first task, which was to gather the wood for her very own mages staff. She seemed eager, asking Delmar many questions about the possible enchantments she could choose from before continuing on the tour.

“And these are the mage’s living quarters,” Raminus continued as they walked along the row of buildings. He made his way inside to show her the common room. “You are free to stay here as long as you please. Many of our mages consider this their permanent residence, but everyone is free to come and go at their convenience.”

“Oh, this would be lovely for long visits,“ Nim said, though Raminus noticed a slight hint of displeasure on her face when scanning the room filled with beds. “Are all these beds typically in use?”

Raminus sympathized with the concern. He too thought personal privacy was vastly undervalued when the living quarters were constructed

“Typically, yes. It does seem to get a bit crowded. The council has been debating the topic of expanding the living quarters. I am certainly in favor of the idea.”

“Good on you, Master Wizard. Never underestimate what a good night’s sleep can do for one’s productivity,” Nim said with a playful wave of her finger.

“Indeed, but I suppose you won’t be making much use of this space. Don’t you live nearby, Nimileth-er Nim?”

“Yes, but I can’t stay in the waterfront forever. I’ve been saving and preparing for a move to Anvil very soon.”

“Anvil, really?” Raminus realized that he was very bad at hiding his surprise. “That’s quite far from here. Will you be staying in the guild hall?” He remembered that Carahil had written a particularly glowing recommendation for the young elf, and wouldn’t be surprised if Nim continued to seek mentorship from the chapter-head given their shared interest in illusion.

“I’m actually buying a house there. Your eyes would pop right out of your head if you knew what kind of deal I scored. Quite suspicious actually… the kind of price that makes you think someone must have died there in a terrible accident.”

“Oh?” replied the Master Wizard not quite used to such candid responses.

“Or maybe it’s haunted with my luck! Beautiful none-the-less. Plenty of natural lighting, and stone floors to keep the house cool in the summers. Oh, I could host some very classy parties there.”

“Er- yes.” Raminus noticed that the Bosmer was speaking faster with each sentence.

“Though I must say, the Anvil chapter did solidify my interest in pursuing higher studies. It certainly is a beautiful city.”

Hmm, the wizard thought to himself. If such a young individual could manage to buy her own house in a city as nice as Anvil, perhaps the alchemy business was not as hard a way of life as he originally thought.


	3. Thief of Principles

 

**Chapter 3: Thief of Principles**

After pausing for several minutes to catch her breath, Nim brought her hands to her chest and cast a stream of blue light over her body. She felt the searing burn on her neck fade to a dull throb and reached down to pull back the torn fabric of her trousers to inspect the cut on her thigh. The gash in her leather pants was damp, sticky with blood from where the Necromancer’s dagger had sliced her, but no sign of the wound remained. She stuck her hand through the hole in her trousers and sighed. The rip was beyond repair. _If only there was a spell for stitching fabric back together_ , she mused, but alas, no such incantation existed. At least she had decided against wearing her new mage’s robe.

It was just  the kind of luck she should have expected to find her first mission plagued by the undead and a cult of necromancers. Raminus had told her that she was to meet with two mages from the University within the cave, but so far she had only come across one unfortunate Khajiit woman. The mage’s corpse looked relatively fresh, and although she had fought a zombie deeper within the main chamber, the cave didn’t smell of rot. It did now smell of charred flesh. How long had it been since the necromancers invaded? Nim shuddered at the thought of the other mage being turned into a worm thrall, perhaps the one she had killed. And even if it was not her colleague, it was still an innocent victim, once human with a life of their own and possibly a family who missed them dearly. It was undead, but was it sentient? Was it aware of what its existence was reduced to? How long did that process take anyway? What kind of lengthy ritual must be performed? Were potions involved its transformation? Why was she thinking about this anyway?

_Focus, Nim._ She reminded herself that there could be more awaiting beyond the cavern door. She let one more wave of blue wash over and once she was confident that the burn from the dodged fireball had healed, she slowly cracked open the rickety wood door leading out from the end of Wellspring cave to the island grove.

Once more, her stomach dropped at the sight of a dead fellow mage. A Redguard woman lay lifeless and stiff on the grass directly in front of her. The Necromancers had wiped out everyone and taken over the entire island!  Several meters away, Nim spotted a cloaked dunmer woman and just as quickly as she had noticed her, the woman turned to catch sight of the Wood Elf peaking out from behind the cave door. Nim didn’t wait for the approaching Necromancer to speak. She shot her fireball as soon as she saw the woman step toward her. The woman’s cries as she went up in flame drew the attention of the two nearby Necromancers who shouted their name above the pained shrieks. Nim drew her bow and hit the dunmer right in the stomach, sending the woman crashing to the ground in a mass of screaming, bubbling flesh. The remaining necromancers circled the island with their conjured undead looking for the intruder who now sat clutching a dangerously thin branch in the low canopy of a nearby elm tree with an invisibility spell flickering over her.

_Hot rat stew!_ She cursed in her head. She really needed to work on extending her magical reserves. It was a bad habit of hers to send out powerful spells in a quick, impulsive burst only to drain herself dry. Aetherius forbid she miss next time!

Nim could hear the grunts of a zombie not far from her tree. She drew her bow and scanned the ground below in search of the other necromancers. One approached the dead body near the cave entrance with hands aflame. She released an arrow, striking the Altmer in the neck. He released a gurgle before collapsing to the floor. Nim could see blood pouring from Altmer’s mouth, and let one more arrow fly, this time striking him through the temple and rendering him motionless. The zombie’s groans had seemed to vanish along with the lifeforce of its conjurer. Nim slid down the tree and scrambled for cover. Her invisibility spell had faded several minutes ago, and she reckoned she had enough in her for a few strong fireballs.

Nim hated fighting other mages. Put her up against a stocky orc warrior with a warhammer, and at least she knew he was capable of smashing her into a pancake. But a mage, she could never tell how skilled they were from afar or what enchantment they had placed upon themselves. At least she could clash steel with a claymore-wielding six-and-a-half-foot Nord before being cut in half like butter, but if she lobbed a fireball at a mage, she never knew is their reflect charm was strong enough to send it right back at her and boil her insides like tomato soup.

A rattle of bones sent her flying to a nearby bush. She crouched behind the dense shrub and peaked around it to see a skeleton making its way toward her from a clearing that led to the water’s edge. Figuring that was the direction in which she’d find the last necromancer, Nim slowly backed away towards the edge of the island. She slid down the steep overhang and landed in shallow water. As quickly and as quietly as she could, she made her way around the perimeter of the island until a beach came into view. Sure enough, the last necromancer was there. He was patrolling a small patch rather nervously, and Nim watched as he conjured another skeleton and sent it up towards where his dead friends lay. Part of her felt a little sorry for the man, who quite obviously was new to this whole necromancing shin dig if he was this frightened and only capable of sending a measly skeleton after an intruder. Of course, she did just kill two of his colleagues. He certainly had reason to be afraid.

 Nim crept closer and took her chances as he turned away, sending a large ball of fire crashing into his back. The necromancer shrieked and immediately sent a bolt of lightning towards Nim. She had not expected such a quick reaction and just narrowly missed it hitting her face, dodging just in time for bolt to singe her at the shoulder. The mage ran at her, and she could hear the rattling bones of his skeleton minion approaching swiftly. She knew she had to end this quick before she had two enemies to face at once.  The mage cast one more shock spell at her and drew his dagger. Nim momentarily reached for her own before turning quickly and running toward the water. Just as the weak waves of the lake washed over her footsteps in the sand, she vanished. The necromancer stood at the shore clutching his dagger as he scanned the sand for foot prints and any sign of rippling movement in the water. Knowing she could only hold her invisibility spell for a few more seconds, she pulled her bow off her back and sent an arrow straight into the necromancers forehead. Both he and the approaching skeleton tumbled to the sand.

Darting between bushes along the edges of the island to be certain that no more necromancers were left on the island, Nim made her way to the stone chest near the heap of dead necromancers in front of the cave door and retrieved the wood staff. Making her way back to the cave, Nim cast one more backward glance at the dead bodies and frowned. Something didn’t feel right about leaving a downed mage among those who killed her. She dragged the Redguard through the cave to where she had found the Khajiit mage and moved them both to the front entrance. Once she made her report to the council, it would be much easier to retrieve their bodies for a proper burial. So long as the rats didn’t get to them, that was. Nim frowned. There was no way she would be able to carry them all the way back to the university on her own. It would also not be the easiest thing to explain should a guard catch her hauling a dead body across the city isle. She concluded that a few nibbles hear and there was a much preferable alternative to being made into a worm thrall. She left the cave feeling comforted by the thought, if only slightly.

* * *

 

 

Nim had just entered Methredhel’s shack and slumped onto the floor with a gracious thud when she heard the door squeak open behind her. She released a loud grunt, realizing that the peace and quiet she so longed for would not be granted to her this afternoon.

“Well, well. You’ve been busy the past two days then? What have you there? You didn’t just snatch that up from RIndir’s in broad day-light did you?”

Nim rolled onto her side to see Methredhel set her bag of apples on the table. She reached out for her wooden staff and pulled it in towards her

“It’s all mine, so don’t you dare think about getting handsy with it.”

Methredhel held up her hands to show that she posed no threat. She pulled out an apple. “The Gray Fox seeks an audience with you at Helvius Cecia’s house in Bruma.” She munched quietly, waiting for her friends reply. “You want one?”

“Oh look at the Guildmaster! He’s actually _asking_ for my help this time instead of going behind my back.”

Methredhel rolled her eyes.

“You’re _still_ sour about that? Nim, that was ages ago. You know he had good reason not to tell you about the bust. It all worked out in the end.”

“Sure, but It’s-

 “- _the principle,_ _”_ Methredhel interjected with a playful grin. “Yes, I know very well.”

“I’ve told you. I hate being deceived. But this is progress, I suppose. Maybe word got out to him about my discontent. Good for him.”

“Mhm, I’m sure the Gray Fox has nothing better to do than sit around thinking about how not to hurt your feelings. You’ve never even met him before. Aren’t you nervous?”

“Nervous?” Nim repeated in a loud sneer. “He’s a thief not a god. What have I to be nervous for?”

“You better watch that tongue of yours, little Nim. Armand tells me the Gray Fox doesn’t take kindly to snarky Bosmers with an inflated sense of self-importance.”

“Oh please, what will he do? Kick me out?” she laughed. “I’ve fenced more than any other thief in the city has for years.”

“Okay then. Don’t listen to me. See what I care. You want this apple?” Methredhel asked again, tossing the apple in the air. Nim propped herself up on her elbow.

“What do you think it’s all about?”

“A mission of some sorts, I’d imagine. Probably asked Armand and S’krivva who they thought their best man was, since he specifically asked for you. See?” she smiled at her friend. “You’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.”

“I guess.”

“Well I’m just the messenger so you best go on up to Bruma soon and find out for yourself. Now do you want this apple or not?”

“Yeah, toss it over.”

Methredhel swung her arm back to toss the apple, but stopped midway. Her face lit up with a mischievous smile.

“Why don’t you float it over?” she suggested.

“Very funny. You know mysticism is not my strong suit.”

“Come on! I want to see it. “

Nim raised her left hand and the burlap sack of apples began to vibrate. She raised it higher and a single apple floated shakily in the air. Very slowly, she pulled her wrist back toward her body. The apple gently floated across the room, not quite in a straight path, until… SPLAT.

“Ack!” Nim shouted as apple flesh sprayed across her face. She looked up at the wall behind her to see the core spread flat against wood panels of the wall. Methredhel roared from her seat.

“Here, let me float this over to you so you can clean up your mess, “ she laughed, throwing a cloth at Nim who caught it in midair.

Nim sighed and got to work.

* * *

 

Though the grey, winter clouds obscured the setting sun, it was well into the evening when Nim arrived in Bruma for her business with the Thieves Guild. Even from the city gate, she could hear the loud laughter of drunk men and women inside Olav’s Tap and Tack. Despite the frequency with which she visited the Nordic city, it never ceased to amaze Nim that Olav’s Tap and Tack was always occupied. Day or night, snow or shine, thirsty towns-folk gathered at the tables and huddled over their tankards of mead, eager to warm their bellies and escape the cold outside the tavern door if only for a brief few minutes. Nim didn’t mind the cold as much as some of the other southerners, so long as there was snow fall. Today it drifted down from the heavens with a dreamlike elegance, melting immediately on contact with one’s skin.

When she was just a young girl living in Kvatch, she had only seen one winter cold enough to produce frozen precipitation, but it wasn’t a soft graceful snow fall like it was in Bruma. For two days, hard pellets of ice beat down on the house tops. For a few hours the hail would lighten to thin, flat crystal flakes and mingle with dirt and grime in the gutters to produce a black slush. If she remembered correctly, a villager had died that winter from slipping on the ice. He cracked his head on the paving stone after slipping on the steps of his own porch. She looked around at the frosted buildings of the cityscape one last time before entering the tavern. Without the white blankets decorating the roof tops and bare tree branches, everything would simply look dead. She shuddered, suddenly reminded of those barren winters in Kvatch.

Nim removed her cloak and scanned the crowded room for her fence. Squeezing her way past a particularly sweaty, red-faced Nord, she managed to wave down Olav for a beer and make her way towards the table where Ongar the World-Weary sat hovering over his bottle either half asleep or incredibly intoxicated. Most likely both.

“Greetings, old man,” Nim said as she took a seat beside him. Ongar didn’t stir. Nim stuck her finger in his ear.

“Ah!” The man’s eyes shot open. He slammed his hands on the table out of reflex, nearly knocking over both his and Nim’s drink. “Oh Nimli. My favorite customer. How’d y’know I’d be n here?” The Nord drunkenly slurred before bringing the bottle to his lips.

“You’re here at this time every day, Ongar.”

“Well what trinkards have you brought me today? Can you put them in my pocket? I might lose em if you hand them to me.”

“How much do you think this would fetch?” She asked, pulling a gold ring out of her pocket. Ongar rolled it in his palm. It was a thick band encrusted with one small diamond and decorated with small engravings. He recognized the Nordic craft and held it up to catch the light of the brazier above before Nim quickly brought his arm down.

“Careful with that,” she whispered. “It’s fresh.”

“Oh?” Ongar replied with raised brows. Nim pointed at the sweaty Nord a few tables away. He hadn’t felt a thing as she brushed past him. It was his fault for carrying rings in his pocket anyway.

Nim waited for Ongar’s price, but she looked over to see the old man’s  eyes had glazed over in thought. He was staring somewhere far into the distance, much further than the length of the bar room in which they sat. She took the ring out of his hand cleared her throat. “Maybe tomorrow, hey? I wanted to ask you about something else, actually.”

“Ah,” he said, returning to Nirn. “Come for a bit’o sagely wisdom? Did I ever tell you why they call me Ongar the World-Weary?”

“Um, yes actually.” Five times actually.

“Because I been everywhere, done everything. Left my ma’s house in Riften when I was only fifteen. Had nothing but a few hundred septims and a stolen horse. Found my way to Highrock and sailed-“

Nim sighed and nodded along. She chugged her beer and then finished Ongar’s while he was distracted making some very enthusiastic hand gestures. Glancing around the room, she found that most everyone was speaking this way, waving their arms high above their heads and out to their sides as though expressing measurement of a large piece of wood. It must be a Nord thing. She looked around for Olav, debating whether to eat something or order another beer, but he seemed rather distracted by a raven-haired woman twirling her hair and necklace around her fingers. She batted her eyelashes at him and leaned in close. Hmm, that didn’t seem so hard. Nim had plenty to twirl and plenty lashes to flutter about. Without thinking, she had grabbed a strand of her long orange hair and twirled it around her pointer finger without taking her eyes of the two Nords. The woman placed her hand on Olav and laughed heartily. When the tavern owner turned away briefly, she saw the woman pull her shirt down in the front, revealing a hefty amount of cleavage. Nim looked down at her chest in disappointment.

“And that’s how I met my first wife. I tell you, every man ought to do it with someone taller than them. Really changes your perspective.”

“Very true, Ongar, very true. I’ll keep it in mind for next time. Now about that question I had- the Gray Fox is in town, yeah?  What do you know about that?”

“He’s here to speak with you, of course. Came in almost two days ago, I think. Follow the road up to Helvius Cecia’s shack. Should be there now.”

“You must have met him then,” she said. Ongar was well into his sixties if not older. Surely he had met this illusive man.

“Me? No, no. Well maybe once in my youth, but I can’t be sure. It was so long ago. I was twenty-five, stumbling my back from the bar down some dark alleyway in Stros M’kai to-”

Nim raised an eyebrow at the statement then shook her head.

“Well do you know why he wants to meet with me? Heard any rumors? Methredhel thinks he has a special assignment for me. You know, steal some grand artifact or treasure.”

“That’s a good guess. Better guess than I’ve ever had. In fact, my guess was that he wanted to give you some special assignment, steal some grand artifact or -”

With her words clearly going through one ear and out the other, Nim stood up and patted the old fence’s back.

“You know what, I think I best make me way over there now. Thanks for the drinks Ongar.”

“Anytime Nimilish. Hey… wait, what do you mean thanks-“

The Bosmer had already left the table. Before leaving the Tavern, she tapped Olav on the shoulder and informed him that Ongar would be covering her two beers this evening. Olav waved her off with a nod of agreement. He was quite distracted at the moment.

 

* * *

 

Helvius himself was not in the house, choosing instead to stand guard beneath the snow dusting outside. The first floor was empty. Nim proceeded slowly down the steps toward the bedroom, wondering if the guildmaster was already aware of her presence. The floor had yet to creak beneath her feet and she entered as quietly as she could. Silently, she peakied around the wall to spot the tip of the man’s shoes. Drawing herself away with a sharp inhale, she felt her heart flutter rapidly in her chest. She stalled before continuing on, reminding herself that there was nothing to fear, not even if he had the grotesque, deformed upper body of a horker. The Gray Fox was mortal.  He was but a man with a Daedric mask, and the man that sat beside the fireplace in the room in front of her was likely not even the cowl’s original thief. It was just a title passed on like any other, Emperor, Archmage, Guard Captain and the cowl was just a hand-me-down like your older brother’s Sundas Best. _Bah_ , she thought to herself. Why did she have to take the fun out of everything?

“Good evening,” She spoke up as she approached the seated man. “I’m Nimileth.”

“Ah, come take a seat. I must speak with you.”

Nim Stared straight at the blue Daedric runes that ran between the man’s eyes. Immediately, she sensed something _wrong_ in the Thief in front of her. His icy, blue eyes sagged slightly in the outer corners, leaving him with an incredibly long, saddened gaze. The Gray Fox had begun speaking to her, but she hadn’t registered any of his words. Nim couldn’t help it. Despite only spending five seconds in his presence, she pitied the man. She simply couldn’t take her eyes off the cowl. It was absolutely the most hideous article of clothing she had ever seen.

“I’m sorry- what? I-I didn’t catch that,” she stuttered, unsure if the Guildmaster had just asked her a question.

“Watch yourself, Shadowfoot! I am the Gray Fox. If you ever want to become a Master Thief in the guild, you had better learn respect.” The man’s sad eyes were now furrowed and slanted into angry little lines. Nim held in her chuckle as she watched the jowls of the cowl jiggle with each word out of the man’s mouth.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just so shocked to finally meet you. What an honor it is.” The flattery seemed to please the man.

“Ah, I see,” he said with a smile. “Come sit. I have need of your special gifts. There is an item hidden away in a remote monastery. I need you to go get it for me.”

“A monastery?”

“Yes, it is called the Temple of the Ancestor Moths. It is where retired, blind Moth priests go to wait out the rest of their days.”

Nim tried her best to avoid slowly losing all respect she held for the illusive figure as she took a seat beside him. Really? Who steals from blind priests of all people? Even Nim could recognize that was too deep a shade of messed up.

“I would be honored to help any way I can, oh Guildmaster.”

The Gray Fox straightened in his chair at this title and nodded.

“Capital!” He exclaimed, clearly oblivious to the hint of sarcasm dripping from her tone.

“I need you to acquire Savilla’s Stone. It is a large crystal with special properties that I need to gain… advantage. Remember do not shed innocent blood. When I receive word that Savilla’s Stone is missing, I will be here waiting for you.”

“You shall have it soon,” Nim said standing up from her seat. The Gray Fox watched as she made her way toward the stairs. Stopping halfway to face him once more, Nim took a final glance at the horrid mask on the man’s face. “So this cowl-“

“I do not answer questions about myself, particularly not from a Shadowfoot,” The Gray Fox interrupted.

Nim audibly gasped at this. “It wasn’t even about you,” she huffed before sprinting out of Helvius’s house. She slammed the door shut and tied her cloak tight around her neck, grumbling all the while as Helvius approached.

“So..” The Imperial began. Nim looked up with her face tightened into irritated scowl. “You got your task. Everything is alright?”

“Alright? Yeah, he’s a right, ugly piece of work, that’s what he is,” Nim responded. She threw on her hood and briskly walked down the path toward Olav’s Tap and Tack. Helvius stood sin silence for a few seconds before he watched the small elf turn around and bound up to him with a concerned look on her face. “Oh, actually Helvius, can you not tell him I said that.” Nim fished around in her cloak pocket and then pressed a cold metal object into his hand. “Thanks. Shadow hide you,” She whispered before turning once again down the street.

Helvius opened his palm to reveal a beautifully crafted diamond ring. He smiled as he turned it over in his palm. He had no intention of mentioning anything to the Gray Fox in the first place, but with an argument like that, how could he say no? It was true what they said about the young girl. She certainly had a way with words.

 


	4. College Days

**Chapter 4: College Days**

Raminus had heard from Bothiel that Nim arrived at the University early this morning. Under orders of the council, he was to send her on an assignment to Skingrad. The attack on Wellspring Cave had shaken everyone and though he understood the rationale behind the assignment, Raminus found many more reasons to be displeased with the decision. He even offered to take on the task himself only for the Council to refuse. He had sent out in search for her after speaking with Bothiel in the Archmage's lobby, but so far, he had not run into the young Bosmer in the living quarters or the practice rooms. Raminus set out on his morning stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear the unease of his stomach, hopefully enough for him to eat breakfast upon return.

It was a chilly Middas morning, and the breeze blew softly through pines along the City Isle. The sun shone brightly overhead, sparkling in the dew of the grass, and by the time Raminus had made his way back within the University walls, he was feeling much calmer if not a bit cold. Ready to enter the Archmage's Lobby to prepare a cup of tea before breakfast, a soft voice singing amongst the wind caught his ears. It grew louder as he approached the iron-wrought gate separating the public from the inner grounds, and he approached to the edge of the walkway to peer into the Lustratorium Garden. There he found Nimileth leaning forward on her knees with a calcinator and retort set up on the stone slab of the decorative architecture of garden. She sat in the center of it dressed in her mage's robes and surrounded by ferns and shrubs. Beneath her apparatuses, she had created a small fire with twigs and dry grass to keep them hot enough to steam and boil her ingredients. Taking a deep breath as he fought the sickly feeling rising in his belly back into the depths of his mind, Raminus walked down the steps and approached the Bosmer, who appeared to be working hard at grinding whatever was in the mortar and pestle in front of her.

"Ah, Nimileth. I should have known I would find you here."

Nim looked up from the bubbling retort, and upon spotting Raminus, she sat back on her knees and waved with a large grin.

"Good morning, Master Wizard," she called to him "Were you looking for me?"

"You know we have an alchemical lab on the University grounds. In fact, you're a mere ten feet away from it."

"It's much too clear of a morning to spend inside. Can you believe Spring is only a month away? This garden will be filled with flowers in no time at all. Hyacinth, iris, bloodroot. You can't imagine how much I've missed them."

Raminus found himself chuckling at her fondness for vegetation. Realizing he hadn't stopped by the Lustratorium to visit Julienne in ages, he must have forgot how excited some people could be over flowers. Alchemists were a very peculiar breed of people.

"Not a fan of Winter, I assume?"

"That would be rather small-minded of me," she replied. "Winter's fine, but it would be better with flowers. Isn't everything?"

"Hmm, I'm more of a rock man myself." Raminus didn't quite understand what compelled him to say that. Sure he had a collection when he was a boy, but no one needed to know that. Certainly not Nimileth.

Nim laughed heartily at his statement. "Good for you, Master Wizard. They're too often overlooked."

"Well, what have you got there?" He asked, eager to change the subject.

"I'm just killing some time before lecture. This," she tapped on the retort with her finger. "should be ready in about five minutes."

"Oh, I forgot to ask sooner. What courses are you taking this Winter? Should you need recommendations for the spring, I'd be happy to give you some ideas."

"Beginners spell-crafting. This week's lesson is on destruction. Can you believe Gaspar Stegine teaches that course? Gaspar Stegine. Everytime I walk into the Praxographical Center and see him and Borissean standing there, I feel like my mouth is full of cotton and I forgot all of my Cyrodiilic."

"Yes, indeed I can believe it," Raminus chuckled. "Borissean and Gaspar trade of lecturing every year or so."

"It's crazy isn't it? Finding yourself among the most powerful sorcerers in all of Cyrodiil," Nim sighed and shook her head before returning to her grinding. "I swear to Stendarr, one day I'm going to make the biggest fool of myself in front of them and hate myself forever."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Nimileth. You're only a Journeyman and for someone of your age, that's quite an accomplishment. I can't remember the last time we had a mage rise so fast within our ranks."

Nim nodded along to his words with a soft smile.

"Thank you, I just- I have so much to learn you know? I'm also taking Auras and the art of reflection, because I know so very little about Mysticism, couldn't float an apple out of a sack if I tried, unfortunately." She sounded quite disappointed in that last statement. Raminus wondered if there was perhaps more to that very specific example.

"Boderi Farano is teaching that, isn't she?" He asked

Nim nodded.

"How do you find of her methods and style?" Raminus had taken the same course those many years ago and he found her terrifying. He hoped, for Nim's sake, that she was easier on the first-years in her old age.

"Oh, she's so wonderful!" Nim exclaimed. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Nim found this an effective teaching style. "So aggressive and loud and terrifying. Is it true he was an imperial battlemage before hired as a lecturer?"

"Well she had been retired for nearly a decade before then, but yes. She was. She trained among experts in Great House Telvanni before moving to Cyrodil. I believe her Father has a Tel in Morrowind."

"A Tel? Those big mushrooms, right?"

Raminus smiled. "Indeed. Have you ever seen one in person?"

"I've never left Cyrodil."

"Oh, you must go if you have the chance. They make you feel so small in comparison."

"Well that typically happens to me no matter what."

"Ah, I- um." the wizard stammered. Nim didn't seem bothered, and realizing he didn't know how to respond to that comment anyway, he didn't bother to respond. He watched as Nim blew out the fire beneath her retort and sprinkled the orange powder from her pestle into it. She swirled the glass around and poured it's contents into a brown stone cup.

"How is that potion coming along?"

"Here, have a sip," the elf stood to her feet and offered the cup to Raminus. He eyed the deep purple liquid curiously and brought the cup to his nose. He wafted the steam upward with his fingers and found it produced a pleasant fruity spell.

"Go on. Let me know what you think.

"I'm not about to start glowing or fall to the ground in exhaustion, am I?" He asked playfully.

"There are worse things to fear than poison, Master Wizard."

"Oh? Like what?" He brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. The potion coating his mouth was warm and thick, almost syrupy.

"Perhaps it's a love potion," she shrugged. "I met a girl in Bravil who got slipped one of those and she said it left her thoughts distorted for weeks."

Raminus nearly choked at the thought and extended his arm to hand the cup back to Nim.

"It's not a love potion, Master Wizard," she responded flatly.

"Yes, of course. I –" Smacking his lips slightly, he first detected citrus, but the overwhelming taste was… was that blackberry? A tingle spread across his tongue in a peppery zing that caused him to cock his head in pleasant surprise. "Oh my, that's absolutely lovely. What do you call this concoction?"

"Breakfast. Pairs remarkably well with goat cheese on toast or a thick slice of ham," she replied. "I'm thinking about calling it Fire-juice," she said with a dramatic wave toward the sky

"Fire… juice?" Suddenly the zing on his tongue made sense. "Fire salts with breakfast? I never would have imagined that would combine so nicely with blackberries. The orange was a nice touch, not to overpowering. Great work, Nim." He helped himself to another mouthful.

"Yes, the blackberries and the orange combine for a basic restore fatigue, something most everyone needs in the morning. But as a mage, I think we out to get the magicka flowing as soon as possible. Thus I add the fire salts to further draw out the restorative properties in the blackberries. And they add a nice zing, don't they?"

"Wonderful zing." So wonderful that Raminus had decided he was not going to hand the cup back, even though he saw her eyeing it. An idea suddenly popped into his head "In fact, would you care to join me for breakfast so I might try this with food as you suggested? As long as you have time before class, of course."

"Oh, it would be my pleasure," Nim replied excitedly. "Let me just gather my things."

* * *

"A book?"

"Yes, I'd like you to retrieve it," Raminus repeated. Nim stabbed a small potato with her fork and squinted her eyes at the wizard from across the table, unconvinced. The lobby had emptied as the mage's made their way to the lecture hall or study rooms to begin their day of work.

"But how is this book related to the Necromancer attack on the Wellspring Cave?"

"Er- yes it details the history of necromancer cults in Cyrodiil and the surrounding provinces. We're wondering if the group of necromancers we are currently working against, the ones who attacked the cave, may have some tie to these historic cults."

"I see," Nim replied through narrowed eyes making no attempt to hide her suspicion.

Raminus sat silently as she held eye contact. A low rumble sounded from the depths of his belly. He managed a few bites of toast before the gnawing guilt bubble up once more as he began to relay the task to her. The young Journeyman was far more inquisitive than he had prepared for. He found himself fidgeting with his hands while waiting for the Bosmer to speak and shoved them into his pockets to keep them still.

"Forgive me if I am speaking out of place, I just believe that we should be taking a more proactive approach. They have already murdered mages on the guilds own property."

"I understand your concern, Nimileth. I know it seems a trivial task but still, the task needs to be done. You are one of the few available to do it while the rest of the council continues its investigation on the occurrence you reported at Wellspring Cave."

"If you say so, Master Wizard. I will leave for Skingrad first thing in the morning. For now I think I should be getting to class." She stood up from the table and carried her plate over to the wash basin on the other side of the room.

"Thank you, Nim. And please, it's Raminus."

Nim nodded and grabbed her pack, slinging it loosely over one shoulder.

"Yes, good day Raminus."

"Take care," He called after her as she left for the Praxographical Center. He watched as Nim shut the door softly behind her, giving him one last small grin before leaving him standing alone in the lobby. His stomach turned, this time not with hunger but with a gnawing guilt about the task he had just assigned her to. Slowly he sipped down the last of his Fire-Juice. She had every reason to doubt him.

* * *

 _Blink._ Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker. Vigge the Cautious, from the Skingrad Chapter, had told her that Gaspar was among the best sorcerers in all of Cyrodill along with Borissean.  _Blink._  Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker. Nim still couldn't believe that he was teaching her lecture every every Middas.

"Alright, everyone," The old Breton clapped his hands. "We have fifteen minutes left of class. Let's see what you've made. I want everyone to step forward and, without explaining the effects you chose, tell us when your spell would be most effective in combat. After you demonstrate on the practice dummy, we will try to deduce the effect." He pointed toward the end of the room where a wooden mannequin stood wearing a beat-up leather cuirass. "Pria, why don't you demonstrate first?"

Pria, a small Breton with curly blonde hair, stepped forward and cleared her throat. She was another first-year student that had arrived at the University from High Rock. Nim had sat beside her in Boderi Farano's lecture several times but the two had only spoken once when she asked for a spare quill.

"I've um, made a short-range spell most useful in close combat within a confined area," she said while wringing her hands.

Gaspar offered the nervous girl a kind smile. "Go ahead and direct the spell toward the dummy."

The students in crowded near the mannequin at the end of the room to watch. Pria approached the dummy slowly and set a hand on the wooden arm. A small spark of light jumped from her fingers and sizzled out in a mere second. Pria blushed a violent shade of red.

"Useful in a crowded marketplace when the shopper behind you is breathing down your neck, perhaps," he said with a finger pointed in the air. "But that wasn't the intention, was it?"

The room filled with soft laughter, and Pria shook her head.

"The only way this would cause any damage in a fight is if your target were soaking wet. What are some ways we can make this spell more effective without increasing the magnitude?" Gaspar asked, directing the question to the cluster of students. "Anyone?"

Nim's hand spasmed upward, but she quickly brought it down. She knew her destruction magic almost as well as her Illusion, but what if she said something wrong? She certainly didn't want to look as silly as Pria did. Poor girl. At least her mysticism was half decent.

Nim looked up to see the tall argonian beside her raise his hand. She had never heard him speak before. Gaspar pointed at him, motioning for him to speak.

"Couple the spell with a weakness to shock."

 _I knew that,_ she mumbled in her head.  _Oh yeah, well why didn_ _'t you say it?_

"Good, Chee-Tul. Why don't you show us your spell now?"

Chee-Tul nodded and stepped forward.

"This spell is most useful when attacking from afar, perhaps for a scout or guard defending against bandits or raiders." He released a bright orange stream from his palm, and the armor on the dummy audibly sizzled away, leaving a gaping hole to expose the wood beneath it. Nim had to restrain herself from  _oohing_.

"Very impressive work," The Breton sorcerer said with a series of fast nods. He turned to the class. "What do we see here?"

"Fire damage," an imperial spoke up from the back row.

Gaspar smiled and remained silent, waiting for the mage to continue. "Oh, were you finished with that thought?"

"Uh," the man croaked. "I mean, it was obviously a fire spell."

"Oh, was it really? I had no idea."

The class chuckled, and the Imperial mage shifted in his stance.

"Why don't you look closer and tell me what you notice."

The imperial walked toward the mannequin and squinted. "I see… scorch marks and- um. The leather is burned where the fireball made impact."

"I would take a closer look at that," Gaspar suggested.

Without thinking to ask, Nim approached the dummy. The imperial mage stared at her with a shriveled nose as she twisted herself around him and ran a finger around the edge of the hole in the cuirass. The edges were warped by odd ripples rather than melted away by flame, while the wooden torso was burned black in the center. She raised her hand but didn't actually wait to be called on before speaking out.

"The fire itself didn't to melt through the leather. Chee-Tul coupled the fire damage with a spell to disintegrate armor."

"Exactly," Gaspar said, snapping and pointing a finger at Nim who nearly swooned off her feet. "Let me propose a situation. What if you were fighting a battlemage who had enchanted their armor with a dispel charm? That would certainly be bad for you. What could you do then?"

"You could stack the spell with weakness to magic," Nim blurted out. "This would not only counteract the dispel charm but also increase the damage done by the other two effects."

"Very good, Nimileth. Let's see your spell now."

Nim stepped forward and faced the class, avoiding eye contact with the Imperial mage who had returned to the crowd and was now glaring at her.

"This is a long-range spell that can be used discretely to gain a swift advantage over a single target in battle without drawing much attention to yourself."

"I like the specificity," the Breton said.

She raised her right arm and gave her hand a small spin towards the end of the room. A faint green orb mingled with red wisps of light enveloped the wooden mannequin. The dummy itself remained physically unchanged. Gaspar smiled at Nim and nodded his head in approval. Mumbled whispers broke out among the class.

"Nothing happened," a voice spoke up.

"If you believe that, why don't you let Nimileth demonstrate on you?" Gaspar turned to Nim and motioned her toward the student who suddenly grew very stiff and bug-eyed. Nim nervously chuckled.

"I'd rather not, Sir."

"What destruction spell did we just observe?"

The class was silent.

"Frost, Fire? No, what else could it be."

"Damage health?" Another mage asked

"Yes! Now, did anyone catch the second effect?"

Nim stood awkwardly in the center of the room across from the rest of the class as Gaspar paced up and down with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Give them a hint, Nimileth. What school of magic was it in?"

"Illusion."

"Paralyze," Chee-Tul called out immediately.

"Correct, Chee-Tul." Gaspar walked to the near wall and peeked out the window. The sun was just reaching it's zenith. "Unfortunately, that's all the time we have for today. Those of you who did not perform their spell today will be first to present for next week's demonstration."

The students began to pack up their work benches and chat amongst themselves. Nim walked back to her bench to retrieve her bag feeling a content smile beginning to creep across her face. She could tell that some of the other students were staring at her. For a Journeyman, it was a pretty good spell, but for a Magician, a Warlock? Well Nim was happy that most of her classmates were first-year University students like her otherwise she'd be laughed out of the Praxographical Center.

"And watch out for these two, class," Gaspar called out with a mischievous grin pointing out Nim and Chee-Tul as they gathered their belongings. "It's always the unsuspecting ones."

Nim cracked a stupid, wide grin and felt her cheeks flush warm, as she watched the Master Wizard ascend the stairs and disappear behind the door. Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker.


	5. Ulterior Motives

**Chapter 5: Ulterior Motives**

Nim did not rest easily in the crowded room. She could not believe that for all its selectivity and reputation of grandeur that the University kept its mages housed in such close quarters like livestock. Hmph, even the Bravil chapter had enough rooms to house all its members individually! NIm pulled her blanket over her head and rolled over to face the wall, not wanting to wake up and find anyone staring at her or find herself staring into anyone elses snoring mouth. She eagerly left before sunrise, only stopping at the Wawnet Inn once she had left the city isle to refill her canteen and purchase a bag of dried fruit for her journey.

The clouds hung low in a dense blanket of gray above. Nim pulled the hood of her robes up after the first drop of rain hit her nose. Even after several hours had passed, the sun had not broken through the clouds. She had cut off the road some time ago, distracted by the bold yellows and red of the cinnabar and emmetic russula fungi growing on and around the fallen trees. The dense forest, with no sun to penetrate its thick green canopy, left ones vision obscured in dark shadow. Nim cast a faint starlight spell and continued through the fields of flax. Emerging from the forest edge, Nim could see Castle Skingrad standing proudly on the hill above the city.

Nim made her way down the hill and into the city. She stuck close to the side of the buildings and looked over her shoulder frequently after finding herself accosted by a strange bosmer with the most terrible haircut within her first five minutes in the city. Before entering the castle's grand hall, Nim retrieved her mages robes from her pack and slipped them over her slightly damp clothing. Now she looked ready for business.

"Excuse me," she called out after a brown-haired steward in fine green clothing.

"Yes?" the man responded with his nose held so high in the air that looking down at Nim seemed to strain his eyes. His lips curled downward into a slight frown. Nim had found this expression, along with the hint of smugness in his nasally voice, to be commonplace among the aristocracy she encountered growing up. She held her judgment in, no doubt he was judging her equally as hard, and tried very hard to remember the greeting she had practiced while walking across the long stone bridge that led to the Castle Skingrad.

"My name is Nimileth. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

The man seemed almost to recoil at Nim's words. She clenched a fist hidden in the sleeve of her robes and swallowed her desire flick the man at the tip of his rather long nose.

"Mercator Hosidus, steward to Count Hassildor."

"Ah, I'm here to speak with Count Hassildor on behalf of the mages guild."

"The mages guild you say?" The man scoffed. "The Count is quite aware of your presence and simply has no interest in granting you an audience at this time." He gave her a quick glance from head to toe. "Now that I've seen you myself, I can't say that I blame him."

Nim sighed and rolled her eyes out of sheer habit before realizing that if anyone was to be the bigger person in this scenario, it would have to be her. As silly as the task seemed to her, she knew to be polite when acting on behalf of the guild.

"I'm sorry, there must be some misunderstanding. If the Count will not meet with me today, I suppose I will return sometime the following week." Nim shuddered internally at the thought of returning to Skingrad and skirting the edge of the town to avoid that feather-duster Bosmer this evening, let alone next week.

"Hmph. I shall endeavor to change his mind on this subject, nevertheless. Return tomorrow and perhaps he will see you then."

"Splendid. Thank you, Mercator," she replied with a bubbly grin though internally she was thinking something more along the lines of  _Not so hard was it, you bloody oaf_  "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"We shall see," came Mercator's flat reply.

Nim bounded toward the exit, quite content with herself. She paused before opening the door, thinking to once more thank the steward for being so helpful, despite the aloof attitude, and turned to wave when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mercator had not moved an inch from where she had last seen him. There were a few meters between them, but even then she could see he was scowling at her. She turned to face him full-on, which he responded to with an unchanging expression. Nim stood there as still as he was with a blank stare as she watched him watching her. The guard beside the door cleared his throat to indicate that she was blocking the exit for another leaving visitor. Nim stepped to the side and popped on a cheery smile. She gave an exaggerated wave to Mercator and turned once more toward the exit. The guard eyed her curiously.

"What's his deal?" she asked the guard.

He responded with a shrug.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

* * *

Nim returned early the next morning only to find that visitors were not yet allowed into the hall. The clouds from yesterday had cleared to bright blue sky, though the morning on the hill was greeted with a chilly breeze. She wrapped her cloak around her head and huddled beside a torch stone. Irritated and growing inexplicably unnerved with each passing minute she had to spend in Skingrad, Nim approached one of the castle guards at the door. Putting on her most winning smile and flattering charm spell, she chatted up the unsuspecting man, bombarding him with a string of corny jokes, batted eyelashes, and a few gentle caresses along his armored bicep just as she had seen that raven-haired Nord do to Olav for a free beer. After a few minutes of flirtatious laughter and ogling, Nim succeeded in being let into the grand hall a whole hour and a half early though she had to deny the guards request for a lunch date, claiming that she was here on business after all.

Mercator was no where to be seen, in fact the hall was empty. Not even the braziers were lit. She took a seat at nearby table and took it upon herself to light the candles set out on a silver tray. She drew a book,  _Mysticism,_ from her pack that she had borrowed from the shelves of the Skingrad mages guild. She hadn't thought to ask anyone if it was okay. She hadn't really thought to return it either.

"You, Bosmer," She heard Mercator call out from a distance. Looking up from her book, she watched as he descended the staircase and approach her. She stood to greet him with a small bow.

"Good mor-" Nim began before Mercator cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"The count has agreed to meet you, but not here. He wishes to meet you north of the Cursed Mine outside of town after 2:00 AM."

"2:00 AM?" Nim couldn't contain her confusion. Why such a discrete meeting place to hand over a dumb book?

"It would be wise of you to be on time," Mercator sneered.

"Follow the road west out of Skingrad, through-."

"Yes, I can navigate myself, thank you," and without waiting for another word from the snotty Imperial, Nim turned to leave. Something was certainly not right with this task, but she had over half the day to figure out how to approach it. She planned make her way back to the guild hall and return the book she borrowed, before she heard her belly release a low rumble. With time to spare before her meeting with the Count, she figured she could squeeze in a brief lunch date. Who was she to deny a meal on someone else's dime?

* * *

At 1:00 AM, Nim woke up from her brief nap and packed her bag for departure. She carefully tucked away the address the guard had scribbled down for her into the pocket of her leggings. His name was Larrius and sported a soft, young face with pale green eyes beneath his helmet. He spent his holidays in Bruma with his mother, sister, and two dogs. A normal man with an endearing sense of humor, Larrius had been fine company for the two hours they spent eating cheese, drinking beer, and chatting at the bar of the Two-Sister's lodge. She kissed him goodbye before he returned for evening rounds, promising him that she would write when she returned home, and maybe if she was the kind of woman that had time for normal guys, she would. When she was a younger girl, Nim had dreams of joining a pirate crew living off spiced wine and having a lover in every port, but of course, that was just the romantic in her. Keeping up on that many people seemed dreadfully boring to her now.

Nim trekked through the vineyards on her way to the meeting point under a cloak of invisibility. The spell was still relatively new to her and in casting it, she found that she could either maintain full coverage for ten seconds or blink in and out of visibility for about 30 seconds. She practiced extending the spell as long for as could as she moved through the soft breeze, flickering beneath the silver light of glowing moons. She paused briefly to allow her magicka to replenish, the memory of the wellspring cave incident still fresh in her mind. Mercator clearly thought her a fool, and she had half a mind to laugh in his face when he proposed the plan for the rendezvous. No Count would meet a lowly Journeyman outside the city walls past midnight. Nim didn't need to be of nobility to know that was not standard procedure. Darting behind boulders, bushes, and trees, Nim scouted out the area of the meeting for any signs of life with a detect spell. The overwhelming sense of danger lied in the clearing beyond.

Cursing her lack of skill in mysticsm, Nim squinted through the darkness. She could make out to dark figures in the distance with a third trailing behind as they approached the meeting spot. Nim drew her bow, immediately recognizing the hooded robes of a necromancer adorning the two figures that now stood idle. Mercator stood among them, scanning the rolls of grassy hills, no doubt, for Nim. A trap! And Necromancers at that! The guild must think her to be the new exterminator. She frowned, knowing that she would now have to kill all three of them when all she came for was a book that probably never existed in the first place.

Just as she could feel her invisibility spell wearing off, Nim released an arrow straight into the nearest necromancers head. He crumpled to the floor with a terrible grunt and spasmed amongst the dirt as Nim raced behind a boulder to cast another invisibility spell. The necromancers, however, had already seen her hiding spot and approached the rock swiftly, throwing bolts of lightning toward it that crashed against the stone. One caught Nim's arm and she choked back a silent wince as the magic burned a dark scar across her bicep. With newfound adrenaline to fuel her, Nim was on the move, keeping low in the tall waving grass. She let another arrow fly, this time toward Mercator. The draw on the bow was weakened by the burning in injured her arm, and the arrow missed, piercing him lower than she had hoped. It stuck him in his right leg, and though it didn't kill him, he was now hobbling in excruciating pain. The last Necromancer was a second too late in locating her and upon turning toward the grass, was met with a large fireball to the face. He stumbled backward releasing a final string of gurgled screams before falling dead against the boulder. Mercator was hobbling away and Nim followed after him with her bow drawn. She stuck him again, this time in the back of his left thigh which brought him crawling to the ground. Nim walked faster to catch up with him and gripped the shaft of the arrow. Mercator looked over his shoulder to face his assailant. Tears mingled with dirt, streamed down his face.

"You sad little man. What are you playing at?"

"Bitch," he spat. Saliva and blood dribbled onto his chin. "You were supposed to be an easy kill. Just a weak new pet from the Mage's guild."

Nim twisted the arrow in her hand, driving it further in to the steward's leg. Mercator howled in agony.

"Where is the Count? Why is he working with necromancers?"

"I- I'm afraid I misled you. The count isn't arriving. He doesn't even know you're here"

"Ugh," Nim released her grip on the arrow and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. She looked down at Mercator whose face had grown pale from loss of blood. She shot a fireball at him and took a seat on a nearby rock to watch as the flame ate away at his flesh until he was only black char vaguely shaped like a man. She cast a healing spell and rolled up her sleeve, watching as the bolt shaped scar sprawling across her arm disappeared beneath a new layer of skin. Nim didn't know what the council had expected of her visit to Skingrad, but it certainly couldn't have been anything this exciting. If there were Necromancers among Skingrad's stewardship, what was stopping them from infiltrating elsewhere in the empire's political seats? Her time spent in the Cheydinhal guild chapter had proven that the mage's guild itself was far from impenetrable.

"You impossible fool!" A loud voice broke through her thoughts. Nim jumped to her feet and faced the direction of the approaching voice with her bow drawn.

"Come no closer or I'll put you out like all of your pathetic friends," she warned. The man continued toward her unphasesd.

"Don't point that in my face unless you intend to shoot it."

Nim took a step closer.

"I have every intention of shooting it unless you tell me who you are."

"Count Janus Hassildor, at your service." Nim noted that the man held the same posture that Mercator had, with his nose stuck straight up into the air as though he were a tracking dog. "A thank you might be in order at this point."

Nim physically recoiled at this statement. "I'll do no such thing. Where were you five minutes ago?"

"Watching, making sure nothing got out of hand. For the life of me, I cannot understand what possessed you to think I would suggest a meeting here of all places. Still your gullibility has served some useful purpose. I knew about Mercator, but not his friends. Now none of them are a threat any longer."

"I was just following my orders. I can't understand what possessed you to employ a necromancer as a steward," she spat.

"I suspected Mercator was involved in their cult," the count snapped and crossed her arms. "I was unwilling to move against him without knowing the identities of his allies."

"A convenient story." Nim squinted her eyes at him and let down her bow. Something about the man's face made her skin crawl. From what she knew of the Count, he was old in age but his skin looked remarkably well _preserved,_ pulled tight over his face and relatively free of wrinkles save the corner of his eyes. He was weathered and pale in the way old paper loses its coloration to sun exposure. She pushed the uneasy feelings aside. "Still, you knew of his involvement and kept your mouth shut. That doesn't make it any better if you ask me."

"Good thing I wasn't asking you," the man sneered. "Despite what your Council may think, I've not thrown in with the Necromancers, and would nor do so. You may pass along that message."

"Sure I will," Nim replied flatly. And so her true task was made clear. She wasn't here to retrieve any important historical text on Necromancer cults as Raminus had so feebly explained. The Council had sent her as a spy, yet failed to provide her with the goal of her actual tasks. Was this their idea of proactive? What a backwards approach! Nim found herself bending the shaft of her arrow, gripping it so tightly her knuckles had turned white, and quickly returned it to her quiver before she snapped it.

"I was sent here to retrieve a book, though I now suspect the existence of such an item is unlikely."

"Bah!" The count exclaimed and shook his head. "Do you really think you were sent here for a book?" he let out a contemptuous scoff. "No, you've been sent here to spy on me. Tell your Council that the next time they want something from me, they come themselves rather than send someone under false pretenses."

This was the first thing the Count had said that Nim agreed with.

"Well if you had listened to my statement, clearly I believe there is no book. Had the Council been honest with me, neither of us would be wasting our time in this field surrounded by dead Necromancers." Nim shook her head in disgust as she looked at the dead bodies surrounding them. What on Nirn had the Council expected to learn from an investigation if the investigator wasn't even was kept in the dark about the entire plan? She looked up at Janus who was wearing the same haughty glare he approached with. Nim couldn't help but notice that the Count seemed to neither blink nor breathe as he watched intently for her next move. She was angry, but not at the Count as much as the Council. As much as it pained her, she knew what had to be done to clean up the mess that had been made in her brief time here. She smoothed her hair over-head and released an irritated sigh.

"Count Hassildor, I apologize on behalf of the Mage's Guild. This whole ordeal has been quite embarrassing. I'll take me leave soon and hope you believe me when I say I had no idea of their intention."

The Count dropped his shoulders and released his crossed arms to his side. He looked slightly surprised, though still displeased.

"Yes, I see that now. I regret that Traven has involved you this way. At least you've survived… for now. Now our business here is concluded. I suggest you return to your Council."

Nim nodded her head to the Count as he walked past her.

"Oh, Apprentice," He called out, turning briefly to face her. "That was quite a show you put on. Good to see someone new in the guild mays actually have a spine."

"Er, thank you," she squeaked out, not quite believing the words leaving his mouth to be genuine.

"Perhaps in the future you can be trusted to deal with more serious matters."

And with that the Count wandered off into the night leaving Nim to process the truth of the Council's deception alone under the twinkling sky. Alone and with a few burnt corpses.

* * *

Having spent an extra day away to wander through the West Weald clearing her mind, Nim returned to the Gold Road and shook with rage all the way back to the Imperial city. She hated being used like this. The Grey Fox had done it numerous times, but he was a thief. If anything, she had come to expect it from him, not that it made her anymore comfortable with the fact. She had trusted Raminus from the start. He was exactly the kind of person she was hoping to meet upon joining the Mages guild, someone learned and seasoned by practice. A valuable teacher and leader not yet consumed by the desire for power that so many in authority possessed. But this, she couldn't help but think, was a dirty betrayal.

Raminus was sitting in the lobby of the arch mage's tower with a copy of  _On Oblivion_. He was now rereading the same passage for the fifth time, unable to shake the gut-wrenching feeling that he had placed the young Journeyman in grave danger. She had left for Skingrad four days ago to complete a task that should have only been a brief meeting with the Count. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud gust of wind entering the room as the door leading in from the courtyard opened and banged against the wall. A small cloaked figure stood in the doorway for a brief moment before marching in with an alarming amount of purpose.

Raminus stood to greet the young Bosmer. She met him at the center of the room and shook droplets of water from her bangs to the floor before shooting him a sharp, squinted glare.

"You set me up," she said, her voice ripe with contempt.

"What happened in Skingrad?"

"You know, Master Wizard, I joined the mages guild hoping to learn more about magic, but so far all I've learned is how better to fight necromancers. You should have told me your true plans instead of making me out to be a fool in front of the Count! I'd rather be an errand boy than a puppet."

"Necromancers? Oh my. Nim, please-"

"I don't see what more can be said. I've been lied to and for good reason or for wrong it matters little to me. I could have been killed, and had I known what I was walking into, I would have prepared. This is a terrible way to treat your mages, and honestly, I am appalled that you of all people, Raminus, would take to such unprofessional measures." Nim jabbed her finger at him before crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wanted to warn you, Nim, but the council thought it would jeopardize the mission."

"So, you just follow blindly whatever the council says? If they said walk me off a cliff, you would do it? Because that is almost what happened in Skingrad."

"I don't quite understand. Surely that's an unfair comparison. Why don't you tell me what happened with the Count?"

"Unfair? I was ambushed by three Necromancers while trying to retrieve this non-existent book. The steward lured me into a trap under the guise of a meeting with the Count. He's not a fool either, you know, and was quite displeased with the turn of events. He is not associated with the necromancer's in anyway and asked me to relay his disapproval of the Council's methods."

"Three necromancers? I-I must apologize," Raminus stuttered. Nim could see his concern was genuine but it did little to ease her irritation. What good did an apology do for her now? The necromancers were already being picked apart by rats and crows, they certainly weren't going to be resurrected by an apology. "It was never the Council's intention to put you in harms way. Traven thought that sending a high-ranking official to meet with the Count would draw to much attention and send any nearby Necromancers into hiding."

"That doesn't explain why you had to keep me in the dark. When I went to Anvil for my recommendation, Carahil entrusted me with full knowledge of a very sensitive mission not five minutes after meeting me. Five minutes, Raminus. We were practically strangers, but she showed greater trust in me than you or the council have, and I did no such thing to harm the integrity of the mission."

"Nimileth, I know you are upset, but with the Count's unique nature, we thought this the most sensitive of missions. Such information was not crucial to your task, thus we chose not to inform you."

Nim's eyes grew wide as she realized what it was about Janus Hassildor's appearance that had left her so unnerved. Even then, she could understand why the Council wouldn't feel the need to tell her of such a secret. That, however, had nothing to do with the fact that she was lied to about her task.

"Ugh, this isn't about the Count," she groaned. "You must think I'm a fool, Raminus." Nim sighed and shook her head. "Really, I expected more from this guild."

Raminus looked down at his feet as the sting of her words weighed on him. He knew he and the council had wronged her, so why was he still defending them?

"I understand your frustration, believe me. I went through it as well when I joined. Don't you think I know how backwards our council can be? It's the inherent inefficiency of bureaucracy. To often the higher ups lose sight of the most important thing. Nimileth, I am so sorry."

"Hmph." At least he acknowledged it. That in itself gave Nim a dull comfort. She let the anger fall from her face though it raged in the pit of her belly like strong rum.

"We feared of Hassildor's involvement with the Necromancers. Thanks to your involvement, we can rest assured he is not. You have my word that we will make no further attempts to mislead you. You have done your job admirably and I thank you for it." Eager to change topics, Raminus straightened his back and cleared his throat. He smiled at Nim, who was now staring at him with an unnervingly blank expression. "Your service to the guild has not gone unnoticed. If you would like, we can speak about an advancement in your rank and the opportunities for new projects to work on."

"Not now, Raminus. Thank you, but I need to be… somewhere else." She quickly drew the hood of her cloak over her head and began tying the strings at her chest into a tight bow.

"Er-of course, until next-"

He ended his sentence just short of speaking alone to the empty space around him. Raminus watched as she turned to flee the room, vanishing into the air before she had even opened the door. He sat down on the bench and ran his hands through his hair playing over the last ten minutes again and again in his head. It didn't need to end the way it did, with Nimileth fighting Necromancers alone and now upset with both him and the Council. It shouldn't have began the way it did in the first place, on lies and deceit. She was right, they had used her and everyone on the Council aside form Raminus hadn't given her safety as much of an afterthought. He cursed his inability to stand up to the Council and left for the living quarters. Popping open a bottle of mead, Raminus conceded that he had never met another mage that made him feel like such a fool beside himself.


End file.
